


Wild Child

by pherryt



Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo [9]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Archery, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stranded, clintaur, deaf!Clint, deserted island, horse, mfd prompt, mistaken impressions, poor survival skills, post winter soldier, rain storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 19:10:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20644235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: The man on the helicarrier doesn't even fight back, says he's the asset's friend, tells him the asset is called Bucky and it's, all of it's too much.So Bucky runs.He steals a plane and looks for somewhere safe to hide, but nowhere is safe from all the people that's gotta be after him now.  Only his plane is blown off course by weather, crashing on a deserted island and leaving him stranded with what Bucky dazedly thinks is a forest spirit.Who else could it be?





	Wild Child

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY! I managed to do a Mandatory Fun Day prompt (AND get it done on time!) - 
> 
> [Prompt post ](https://mandatoryfunday.tumblr.com/post/187595035218/hi-there-i-want-you-to-know-that-i-love-and) and for a more direct look - the photos from the prompt post are here:  
[ Picture One ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/c38177e587ac6d216bb521a7cfba5421/tumblr_p8on5ar8jk1sltkhoo1_1280.jpg)  
[ Picture TWo](https://66.media.tumblr.com/bc9967c2c0bf74a05642e1fd999cb99f/tumblr_p8on5ar8jk1sltkhoo2_1280.jpg)
> 
> also fills the stranded square on my Bucky Barnes Bingo
> 
> This wasn't supposed to reach 10k. what even.... I also couldn't think of a better name and my wrist is throbbing from all the typing so i'm gonna... go now and ... get a heating pack or something. hope you like it!

When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not.

Then again, he wasn’t sure about much these days. Not even who he was.

Bucky.

The man on the bridge, on the helicarrier - his _mission_ – that man had called him Bucky. It felt right and foreign at the same time. A part of him had hesitated, the name resonating within him, somewhere deep down while another part of him had raged.

He’d failed to stop Captain America – the man who called himself Steve (and that sounded right _too_ )– and the asset had been so filled with anger and loss and _fear_ that he’d nearly killed the man, even though it was too late for it to matter to anyone but him.

And Steve had just stood there and let him at it. Had let the asset hit him and hit him and hit him, over and over till the asset had almost been sobbing with it.

Steve fell, and something had snapped, Bucky jumping after him – but that only made sense, right? He couldn’t stay on an exploding, crashing ship. Not if he wanted to live.

Did he want to live?

He pulled Steve out of the water and stared at him for too long before he left, running like the whole world was on his heels.

Bucky wasn’t sure, but he thought they might be. Steve. His old masters. The authorities. Everyone would want a piece of him after the things he’d done. So he ran. He stole a plane and he flew and flew, looking for the ends of the earth, for somewhere no one would ever look for him.

Well, he’d found that now, he thought, staring out from under the shade at the edge of the beach he lay on, the sound of the surf crashing gently upon the shore. He was alive despite the crash – but then, he was a little harder to kill than the average man (was he a man?) – and the few injuries he had were treated.

And that’s what Bucky was staring at right now, because he didn’t remember crawling out of the wreckage of the plane or cleaning his wounds or bandaging them either.

Then again, his memory was so full of holes it probably looked like swiss cheese. Perhaps it was just one more thing he’d forgotten.

He levered himself up with a pained grunt. Further down the beach were the remains of his plane and Bucky considered it for a bit. Wherever he was, he would probably need shelter. He could probably turn the plane into shelter depending on how mangled it was, but first, he should scout the lay of the land.

He had no idea where he’d crashed and if there was civilization near by or not. He felt almost certain this had to be an island – he’d been flying over the ocean when the storm had hit – but that didn’t mean it was unpopulated.

His wounds had been treated, after all, for all the he seemed to be alone now. Since he had no memory of it, he needed to be certain.

Bucky stood, facing away from the ocean and scanning his immediate skyline. There wasn’t much in the way of high ground but there was a small cliff face, easily scale-able, just beyond the line of trees and he headed for that with a limping gait.

Each step was agony, pain shooting up his leg sharply. His ribs, he thought, might be cracked or broken, considering the amount of pain they were in, how much it hurt just to breath. His head pounded – but it had been doing that for days anyway, ever since Steve –

Well, anyway, it wasn’t necessarily an indication of injury. Additionally, his wrist throbbed and his body was covered in scrapes and bruises. The bandages looked to be made of torn clothing – purple, black and white - and other than the bandages and his tattered pants, Bucky was naked.

Even his feet were bare, burning against the hot sand.

Despite all that, he refused to make a sound, only his pained breathing giving way how badly he felt. He eased himself to the treeline and reconsidered walking about barefoot. There was able to ignore walking on branches and rocks barefoot and then there was just plain being stupid.

what had happened to his boots?

He glanced back toward the beach and sighed. There they were, right where he’d been laying. Maybe Bucky should add a concussion to his list of injuries. How had he missed that?

Weighing his options, Bucky sighed and went back for the boots, found himself something to sit on so he wouldn’t aggravate his injuries – quick healing or not, why make matters worse when he didn’t need to? – and pulled them on.

Then he remained sitting, the crash of the waves lulling him into staying still, still hazy and not quite with it. After a few long moments he shook his head sharply, inhaling too deeply and wincing, his hand wrapping around his ribs. Pushing himself back to his feet, he snorted lightly.

It was a good thing he’d broken away from HYDRA and that there were no enemies here – or at least, he wasn’t in any immediate danger – because Bucky felt a bone deep weariness that was leaving his mind as slow as molasses. It was a sure-fire way to get himself killed, but it was all he could do to get himself moving back to the cliff face again.

He needed the lay of the land before he could make any plans. If he did nothing else today, that – at least – needed to be done.

* * *

Clint still couldn’t believe his eyes.

He lurked behind the tree line, watching the Winter Soldier who was looking way more lost than bad ass just at the moment.

Clint had been on mission when he’d received the first of the coded messages from Natasha about everything going down in DC. He hadn’t been alone. He’d been on a team with 3 others, assigned to a milk run down along the South American coast and absolutely unable to reach Nat in time to do any good. The second she’d told him that SHIELD was compromised and Fury was dead, his stomach had dropped.

And the he’d wondered which of his 3 companions were SHIELD and which were HYDRA. With his luck, they’d all be the latter, but he held out hope. After all, he knew not _all _SHIELD operatives were HYDRA. He wasn’t, and Nat sure as hell wasn’t.

When the boat had received instructions from Pierce to consider Captain America as hostile, Clint had balked. Looking at each other warily, Clint and the rest of the crew had moored their boat and pulled up a local newstation to keep tabs on the situation. The footage of the Winter Soldier – and there was no doubt it was him, the stories about him in the community were a thing of legend – played on repeat, some brave _stupid_ civilian recording his attack on Steve, Nat and some other guy.

Another coded message came through from Natasha a few hours later, and the news that the Winter Soldier was a brainwashed Bucky Barnes was briefly overshadowed by his relief that his friends were all right.

Once that had a chance to sink in, his brain had gone back to the Winter Soldier, to Bucky Barnes.

Anyone who knew _anything _about Captain America knew all about Sergeant Barnes. It must be tearing him up inside to see his best friend a puppet for the very thing they’d both fought against. Clint wanted to ask the universe how it was possible Bucky was even still alive, but then all he had to do was remind himself that _Steve _was still around, against all odds.

How he was still alive wasn’t important anymore. It was what had been done to him – and could they help him? Clint knew from late night talks when neither Avenger could sleep, that Bucky had meant a lot to Steve, like Nat did to Clint. Steve wouldn’t care if the answer was no, Clint knew he was damn well going to _try._

Not long after that mindboggling fact was dropped on him, Steve had come over the coms, broadcasting everywhere, to denounce SHIELD as HYDRA.

Clint had watched his teammates carefully when the news dropped, pretending that Steve’s news was as much a surprise to him as it was to them and his mouth had dropped, and then _he _had dropped, rolling away as his own team members – people he’d had to trust his _life _to - pulled guns on each other, declaring their sides.

The fight that had broken out on board the ship was fucking ugly, but when the smoke cleared, Clint had been the only one left standing.

Hauling up the anchor, Clint got the boat moving again at best possible speeds.

He needed to get home, get to Nat’s side, check on her and Steve. He didn’t want to lose even more friends, the new found family Clint had been slowly adding to over the years. Losing Coulson and now Fury – that was hard enough.

The boat had gone off course, though, instrument damage from the gunfight, and then the engine had stalled, leaving her dead in the water. Shooting off a message to Nat and hoping it got through, Clint wound up abandoning ship for the small island off in the distance.

Two days later, Bucky Barnes had crashed on the beach.

What the hell was Clint’s life?

Clint’s life was, apparently, currently split between keeping an eye on Bucky Barnes and keeping himself alive at the same time. This mostly meant staying out of the Winter Soldier’s way because the guy may have been Steve’s friend once up on a time, but HYDRA had gotten their hands on him and who knew what state his mind was currently in?

Thankfully, he’d already explored the small island they were both inhabiting and had even found himself a shelter of sorts. An overgrown overhang that kept off the worst of the elements except, perhaps, a particularly nasty storm.

Well, no, there was no perhaps about that. The same storm that had most likely taken down Barnes’s plane had devastated what little creature comforts Clint had managed to put together. The only reason his inflatable raft hadn’t also blown away, was because Clint had been using it as a bed at the time.

The island itself was big enough to support life – he had, in fact, been very overjoyed to find the horse, cause horses were like overgrown dogs and the idea of being able to befriend it as a way to pass the time waiting for rescue had brightened Clint’s day - but small enough to easily check all corners within a few hours. Of course, that also meant that it was small enough that staying out of Barnes’s way was going to be an issue.

Still, Clint could think of it as a game, one ex-assassin vs ex-spy.

So now Clint had three things on his daily agenda:

Survival shit – shelter and food.

Evade Barnes – and failing that, make himself as nonthreatening as possible.

Befriend the horse because, well, really, because he _could_.

Wherever and however the horse had gotten there, it seemed amenable to Clint’s plan at least. It seemed perfectly comfortable around humans, so that part was well underway before Clint had pulled the Winter soldier from the wreck, torn his shirts and jacket and did his best to put Bucky back together without a medkit.

Not terribly hard, since just like Cap, Bucky seemed to be healing at an accelerated rate. Not as quick as Steve, maybe, but quicker than Clint and way more resilient. Given the wounds Bucky had sustained in the crash (not even counting the ones still healing from his altercation before that) Clint certainly would have been dead if it had been him flying the plane.

Enhanced or not, Barnes had to be hurting pretty bad, and Clint hadn’t been able to stop from helping. It was… kinda what he did, actually. Barnes certainly wouldn’t the first Russian ex-assassin he’d befriended (he helpfully ignored the part of his mind that reminded Clint that Barnes wasn’t actually Russian, but was, in fact, Brooklyn born).

All in all, Clint sure as hell hoped that if they crossed paths, Bucky was more Bucky than Soldier, or Clint could be in serious trouble.

* * *

Bucky had finally pulled himself up the cliff face - more of a very steep hill, really – and gotten a fairly good idea of the lay of the land. There was an abundance of trees, which meant there was freshwater somewhere. There were birdcalls and movement all around him with the occasional yip of creatures Bucky couldn’t begin to identify.

He’d grown up in a city and while his memory was _still _fuzzy about his pre -HYDRA days, he was relatively certain he hadn’t interacted with much in the way of wildlife.

All in all, civilization seemed decidedly lacking which was both good and bad.

Good, because that’s exactly what he wanted – to remove himself from the world, hiding away till he could figure out what to do next – and bad, because he wasn’t exactly equipped for wilderness survival. He had to have known _something_ in the war with all the cross-country treks, right?

Maybe.

Actually, come to think of it, he wasn’t too sure about that. But whether he had or not, HYDRA sure as hell wouldn’t have spent any time teaching him to live off the land. They sent him on specific tasks, most usually in very urban areas, and always with whatever supplies he could possibly need.

This was as far from one of their situations as Bucky could have gotten.

Still. He was stronger and faster than he used to be, surely he’d figure something out?

First order of business – shelter. He climbed back down after checking the position of the sun and calculating how long till dark. At the very least, the plane could be shelter, but it should probably be a last resort. As exposed as it was, it was likely to draw attention if anybody swung around the island and Bucky wasn’t ready for that. With his luck it would be the _wrong_ attention.

And despite the fact that he was due some _good _luck for once, his track record, as spotty as his recall of it was, wasn’t all that great. So… not staying on the beach or near the fucking plane. He wasn’t going back to HYDRA or whatever was left of it.

He might now know who he was anymore, other than a name and vague memories, but he knew who he didn’t want to be and that was the Winter Soldier, the asset, somebody else’s weapon.

If he was ever to be a weapon again, he wanted it to be on his terms. His choices. But frankly, he’d be content not to ever fight again. He just didn’t think he’d be allowed that choice. Because so far in his life, when had he?

He started walking, listening for anything out of the ordinary, his eyes tracking each and every movement – which actually started making him twitch as the leaves were rustling and shifting near constantly.

Bucky was completely on edge and more than a bit dehydrated a few hours later when he finally stumbled upon something noteworthy in his widening circles from the ‘cliff base’.

At some point, his enhanced ears had picked up a sound he thought he knew, so he’d followed his ears towards the sound of trickling. With a happy little groan, he surged towards the stream as soon as it came in sight - ignoring the protest of his ribs, the pull of a cut across his back that must have been fairly deep to bother him - and thrust his head under the blessedly cool water and shook it back, the cool droplets spattering over his skin. He cupped his hands and drank greedily, interspersed with swiping it over his dirty skin – and then he belatedly froze, eyes slowly lifting as he finally registered the presence on the other side of the stream.

In near perfect mirror of Bucky, was a half-naked man kneeling by the water, a black horse with a white muzzle grazing behind him.

In that moment, Bucky wondered if he’d been injured more greatly than he’d thought, for surely he must be hallucinating?

The man was gorgeous, his skin tanned but strangely marked up with blue splotches of color. Two bands of the color – one for each bicep – wrapped around while a large smear of it ran down the left side of his face. The hair was a shock of dirty blonde that hadn’t seen a comb in days or… maybe ever. His wrists were wrapped in black cloth, a bow was slung over his body and the black jeans he wore were sinfully molded to his skin – though not so tight the strange man couldn’t easily move.

The stranger shifted as Bucky stared, and he caught glimpse of knee-high boots that nearly blended in with the jeans. His eyes were blue and wide as they stared right on back at Bucky.

Neither of them spoke a word – Bucky too stunned by the other _even being there – _for a good, long moment. He was still trying to decide what to do when the man leapt gracefully to his feet, gave a short whistle and vaulted on the saddle-less back of the horse. Despite the tree cover, or maybe because of it, the horse and rider were gone as if they’d never been.

Bucky blinked and fell back on his heels.

Had that just happened?

Was the man some sort of forest spirit? But no, the few bits of clothing he wore, and that bow, it had all been too modern for a fairy tale.

Bucky was intrigued, but rather than give chase, he went back to the stream, checking his internal clock. Under the trees it was already darker than it would be out on the beach, but the sun _was _still up, though not for much longer, and Bucky still hadn’t found a place he felt safe enough to hole up.

Now that he knew he wasn’t alone, it felt doubly urgent to find someplace that was more than just shelter, but also defensible.

Though a part of him recalled the enchanting image he’d just now laid his eyes upon and not only did it think it unnecessary for Bucky to be wary of the man, but that same part of him wanted to abandon everything and go after the vision.

He shook his head.

This was no time for a flight of fancy. It was more than likely a hallucination and Bucky had more important things to attend to. 

Still, even the damn horse had that strange blue stuff streaking its face.

Maybe they _were _forest spirits. Nonsense, a part of him scoffed. The other part was still wide eyed with wonder and curiosity, a half-remembered voice telling him and Stevie about fairies and other fantastical stories from the old world.

Eventually Bucky shook himself and made his way back towards the plane for shelter for the night, keeping an eye out for anything useful on the way. As he walked away from the freshwater source, he cringed, realizing he had nothing to carry it in. There might have been something in the wreck, but he hadn’t even looked.

Guess the crash and his injuries had scrambled his brains more than he thought. Or… that was just what happened when HYDRA had free reign in there for… for how long? He wasn’t sure. But it was longer than he’d thought. The things he’s seen on missions, the technology… it was far above what he could remember growing up.

Not that he could remember much of that.

It took him far too long to make his way back to the beach, the walk winding him far too much, his sides twinging painfully. He had expected his injuries to have healed by now, but they hadn’t and that worried him a great deal. Either way, the pain slowed him down much more than he would have liked, and the sun had already set by the time he crawled into the plane.

He had shelter now, but he didn’t sleep, too twitchy for so many reasons. The unfamiliar sounds, the worry of being found by HYDRA, the pain he was in, and the simple fact that every time he started dropping to sleep, nightmares engulfed him. he dreamed of falling. He dreamed of killing. He dreamed of torture.

Each dream jolted him awake, each jolt caused pain to rock through him.

Needless to say, the night was not restful.

When morning came, the sun shining all too brilliantly through what was left of the plane, Bucky was more than eager to get back on the move again. This time, though, he took stock of the plane first, seeing what was salvageable and what was not.

Turned out, what little food there’d been was not, but he did turn up a first aid kit, several blankets, a handful of water bottles – still full, thank god, as he guzzled two down right then and there – a flashlight and something to carry it all in. He still had most of his knives, thank goodness, but he’d lost his guns long before he’d stolen the small plane from a private airfield.

It would have to do.

He packed the bag with everything he could fit, and carried anything that didn’t (the blankets), and made his way back to the freshwater source he’d found the day before, his stomach rumbling the entire time. He kept an eye out for anything that might look even halfway edible and wondered exactly how good his now enhanced body was…

Could he eat something poisonous and survive? How bad would it be if he ate something undercooked? Fuck… how was he supposed to cook his food? There hadn’t been anything like matches or a lighter in the supplies he’d found and while – intellectually – he knew there were other ways to start a fire, Bucky didn’t _know _them.

Or remember. But really, at this point, same difference, right?

A short while later, Bucky had used his blankets to tie together a sort of make shift shelter in the trees near the freshwater source he’d found. He’d managed to take down a rabbit with an expertly thrown knife and was now staring forlornly at the pile of sticks he’d been hoping he could call a fire, but all his efforts had produced _nothing._

There was a snap, a rustle, and a twang – and not even a second later an arrow had struck the pile of sticks and smoke was rising from it. a flame licked up and around the arrow, spreading into his pitiful attempt at a fire – only it was, actually, a fire now.

Blinking slowly, way too slowly, Bucky tore his gaze from the fire to the direction the arrow had come from. He saw that same face from yesterday peering out from the foliage, bow in hand. It blinked back at him, gave him a nod and then melted away before Bucky could even think to call out to him.

Bucky’s stomach rumbled and he turned back to the fire. Now that he had one, it was time to go about cooking this damn rabbit.

* * *

Clint’s heart pounded in time with the hooves of the horse – Clint instantly decided upon sight to call the horse Black, in homage to one of his favorite movies, though the horse wasn’t completely black all over – as he raced away from the stream as fast as the close trees would let him.

A quick glance back revealed that he was, as of yet, unpursued.

He wondered what Barnes had made of the situation – the poor man had looked oddly transfixed - but decided not to dwell on it. Clint took the long way back to his shelter - in case the Winter Soldier _had _tailed him – just in time for the sun to set.

And he _wasn’t _wondering if Barnes had found shelter or not. The Winter Soldier was a big boy. He could take care of himself.

Clint slid down off Black and rubbed his hands over Black’s skin. Black wasn’t even winded as he knickered, then nuzzled at Clint’s bare chest. The horse wandered away but Clint wasn’t worried. The horse seemed lonely. He’d be back.

Okay, so step 2 of his daily goals – avoid Bucky Barnes - was going swimmingly. Or not so swimmingly as the case may be. Only half a day after leaving Bucky on the beach and watching from afar, and what had happened?

Yeah, Clint might have gotten a little distracted by the horse, who had deigned to let Clint onto his back that day after playing tag with Clint for the past few days. Clint just hadn’t been able to restrain himself for ‘taking the horse out for a spin’ so to speak, and after about an hour of riding and running, Clint had stopped for a drink and Barnes had stumbled through the brush so silently that Clint had been taken by surprise.

The horse, of course, hadn’t even stirred. Yeah, there was no way this horse was wild.

They’d been frozen like that, Clint’s breath nearly catching in his throat as the Winter Soldier knelt before the stream, splashing water over his face. His cheeks were flushed but his skin pale – enough that Clint was worried that Barnes might have an infection. Wait, was that even possible? If he was anything like Steve, Barnes should be fairly safe from an infection, right?

Barnes’s eyes had met Clint’s, a beautiful stormy grey blue that pulled him in. They were lost and confused and so unlike that of a killer it had given Clint pause.

And maybe a little bit of hope.

Still, Clint had decided to get while the getting was good, when Barnes was off balance. Black was at his side in an instant – he hoped Tony had room at the tower for the horse, because there was no way Clint was leaving Black behind – and had made their escape.

Now here he was, turning his attention back to his makeshift shelter.

Since then, no matter where he turned or looked, Barnes seemed to be _right fucking there_. On the plus sides, Barnes seemed equally surprised as Clint as it kept happening and he definitely had more curiosity written over his face than murder.

Which was good. Because by day 2 of watching Barnes, Clint was convinced the man was going to starve to death. Clint couldn’t very well just stand by and let him fucking starve. How would he ever be able to look Captain America in the eyes again?

The more Clint watched, the obvious it became that Barnes didn’t know _anything_ about surviving in the wilderness, not that Clint was an expert or anything, but he was making do. Resourcefulness, though, was definitely one thing they had in common.

It had started with the arrow – finagling a way to light it on fire and hit Barnes’s pile of sticks. The rabbit had fared better than the fire. While Barnes had stared at it, a little lost and confused, he’d still resolutely brought his knife up – not the best thing for dealing with rabbits, that’s not the kind of knife it was, but a point was a point – and within seconds, his hands were doing the rest. The surprise on his face was almost laughable until you thought about _why _he was so fucking surprised.

And then Clint wanted to cry.

BecauseBarnes’s memory had been fucked with, but skills he’d learned were things his body knew how to do. He might not remember ever skinning or prepping meat, but his body did.

By day 3, the batteries in his hearing aids finally died.

Well…. Fuck.

Evading Barnes had just gotten that much harder. Especially as Clint kinda wanted to still keep an eye on him. Shadowing Barnes, though, was a given. The man had been injured and was still moving carefully. His shelter was… a little lacking and his diet currently consisted of half raw, half burned meat – though Clint had to give him kudos, he was getting better.

After the arrow, Clint had left Black behind and scampered through the trees till he was in the one above Barnes’s makeshift ‘tent’ - if it could be called that. He dropped rope on the ground and then beat a hasty retreat to a different set of trees and watched Barnes’s reaction when he turned around.

Picking it up, Barnes had peered around with a small frown on his face, but he otherwise hadn’t questioned his good fortune. Instead, Barnes had put it to immediate use, the blanket tent looking a hell of a lot better after that.

A few times, after watching Barnes mangle his breakfast or dinner, when Clint had gone back to his own shelter to make a meal, he’d made sure there was more than he could eat, portioned it out and left it besides Barnes’s fire.

He was pretty stealthy, and Clint knew it, but Barnes was good and a few times, he’d caught sight of Clint. Clint had winked, waved and left as quickly as he could.

Eventually, that would stop working. Eventually, Barnes would give chase.

But that was a problem for future Clint.

* * *

Bucky could _feel _the forest spirit watching, but couldn’t always _see _him. It was weird, this blind spot. He might have worried about it more except, well, it was a _fairy_, and mere humans couldn’t see them unless the fairy wanted to be seen, or so he’d been told (By whom??? Would he ever remember more than fragments?).

Of course, he wasn’t even completely human anymore, was he? So that might explain why he continued to catch glimpses of the spirit when it was clear he was trying to hide.

Or maybe the spirit _wanted _Bucky to see him.

Bucky suddenly wasn’t sure. There was something about him, though, that was reassuring, in a way. Bucky couldn’t pinpoint what it was – something in his eyes, in the small sad smiles or the big, friendly grins – that just screamed _trust me_.

He wished he could remember more of the stories, of the magics the Fae Folk were said to have, but he was no more successful in remembering those than he was in getting his dinner to cook properly.

At least there was hope for the dinner.

A drop of water splashed Bucky’s face, starling him out of his thoughts. And then another big, warm drop followed it. He looked up in dismay. There was a small gap in the trees over the stream he’d hunkered down by, just enough to see the dark clouds gathering fast.

Shit. His shelter wouldn’t stand up to another storm should it be of a similar strength to the one that took down his stolen plane.

He wondered miserably where his forest spirit and his steed were holed up and if they had room for another.

No… they wouldn’t want to be that close to a killer. Small gifts and kindnesses as they shared the island aside, the forest spirit still ran from Bucky, didn’t try to talk or even respond when _Bucky _attempted to.

It was clear – Bucky was being tolerated, but was wanted no closer.

Thunder rolled through the trees and the sky opened up. Bucky scrambled to pull his half-cooked meal of the fire, and ducked under the blankets, but within mere moments, the blankets had been soaked through and Bucky and all his worldly possession – which wasn’t much – were equally as soaked.

He shivered a little as lightning flashed, thunder rolled and the wind picked up. Movement caught his eye that wasn’t a leaf or a branch shifting in the storm and another flash showed the forest spirit crouched before him, ducked under the ‘roof’ of his sagging tent and far, far closer to Bucky than he’d been yet.

Bucky stared at him, astonished, breath catching. Rain dripped from the shirtless man, the blue stripes that had been on his skin were running as water glistened over a well-toned, and scarred, body. Wait, did spirits have scars? What if this was just a man, like Bucky?

The silence between them stretched and then the man held out his hand and jerked his head in a clear ‘come with me’ gesture.

Bucky’s chest ached with the hope it felt and he took the forest spirit’s hand, half expecting it to be as ephemeral as a ghost but it was warm, and it was firm and it pulled Bucky to his feet easily. The hand didn’t let go and the forest spirit attached to the hand led Bucky through the pouring rain toward the cliff that he’d climbed that first day.

The forest spirit circled around it, pulling Bucky under an overhang that was almost a cave and was certainly a hell of a lot dryer and warmer than his previous shelter. How had he missed this? No, he knew the answer to that. He’d been too out of it when he first woke, he’d picked a direction and he’d gone.

He should probably be kicking himself for that, but he was too busy looking around, his curiosity too much. There was a big, inflatable yellow raft against one wall, piled with blankets. There was a fire, providing warmth and light, protected from both the wind and the rain – for now. The horse was huddled down near the back and the forest spirit was tugging him towards the fire. When they reached it, he let go of Bucky’s hand, went over to the raft and came back with two blankets, handing one to Bucky.

The forest spirit grinned down at him – he was _tall, _Bucky suddenly realized, now that the other wasn’t crouched or hiding behind something - and shook his head with a small laugh, water spraying about. Afterwards, he used the blanket like a towel before laying it on the ground before the fire. Bucky followed suit bemusedly, his hair taking much more work to dry out than a simple shake could do.

But it made the other man smile when Bucky did it and that made warmth curl through him.

Soon enough, the two of them sat before the fire on the blankets, stripped down to the barest of coverings as they let the fire warm and dry them further, their clothes – what little there was – spread out around the other side to take advantage of the fire.

The man reached towards Bucky’s bandages and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“You… want to check my injuries?” he asked cautiously. The spirit frowned, tilted his head and stared at Bucky’s face – no, his lips – before he nodded. “Were you the one who treated them?”

“Yes,” the spirit said.

“You _do _talk,” Bucky said in relief. “I was beginning to wonder. What’s your name?”

The spirits eyes drifted down again then flickered back up. “Clint.”

Bucky frowned. For a forest spirit, that name was wholly ordinary. Had he been wrong this whole time? was Clint just a normal guy? Part of him knew that yes, that was most likely, but another part had latched on to Clint the forest spirit and wouldn’t let go.

And he had no idea _why._

* * *

If Nat were here, she’d probably be lecturing him on taking in wayward assassins without backup, but considering it wasn’t his first time doing so, Clint really wasn’t worried that he’d finally broken out of hiding and brought Barnes straight back to his own shelter.

Even though he hadn’t experienced many of them, the storms around here were a bit of a doozy and, enhanced human or not, they weren’t exactly comfortable to endure.

He could no more have left Barnes out in the storm than he could have left Black. If Clint was being stupid, well, he’d been stupid for worse reasons. Watching Barnes in his space – however temporary it was – however, was a revelation. He was respectful, he was… cautious… and he couldn’t take his eyes off Clint.

And there wasn’t a hint of murder about him.

Clint checked Barnes’s bandages, looking a little worse for wear though he knew Barnes had tried to clean and rebandage himself. Or maybe because of that. The wound to Barnes’s back that had been particularly bad was nearly gone and Clint just shook his head in wonder.

“Don’t think you need that one anymore,” he said, tossing the remnants of his shirt that had made the bulk of that bandage aside. He slid his hands down Barnes’s sides, gently testing his ribs. Barnes tensed under his fingers and Clint glanced up.

Barnes was grimacing, biting his lip, a battle in his eyes. his mouth opened, then shut, he shook his head and he looked Clint in the eye, his mouth opening again.

Clint’s eyes immediately honed in on Barnes’s lips, reading as carefully as he could and extrapolating the rest.

“Do you know who I am?” Barnes asked. Clint couldn’t hear his voice, but Barnes looked nervous, his eyes flicking around, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Clint stared a few, long moments. He wasn’t sure, exactly, what Barnes was looking for, for an answer, but by the tenseness of his shoulders, the answer was definitely important.

Clint nodded. “The Winter Soldier.”

Bucky’s face fell and twisted and he ducked his head, his hair coming forward to hide his face. Resolutely, Clint kept going.

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, Howling Commando.” He paused, watching Barnes carefully. The other man’s body was heaving, breathing hard. “Bucky,” he said softly.

Barnes’s head shot up. Blinking furiously, he looked up at Clint and his eyes were so damn haunted. “No. No, you were right the first time. I’m not Bucky. I’m just the soldier, the asset. A weapon. I’ve done terrible things,” he choked out, shame flooding his face. His head ducked down once more, anything else he said lost to that damn curtain of hair.

“Hey, hey,” Clint reached out, cupping Bucky’s jaw gently and urging him up. “You are _not _what they made you do, okay?”

Lightning flashed and Bucky’s eyes glistened, thunder rumbling through Clint’s body – a vibration so deep he could almost hear it.

“You can’t… how would you…”

“Because I’ve been there, okay?” Clint said. “I don’t have the same breadth of experience as you do, it was rather short-lived by comparison but,” Clint’s lips twisted and who knew what Bucky could see in his face right now – “But if I let myself think about it, or when I’m sleeping and the dreams come, I still see every move of what I did. I almost killed my best friend – the closest thing I’ve got to family – I made it possible for an alien invasion to destroy New York. In 3 days, I did a fuck ton of damage. I’m _lucky _it wasn’t longer. My nightmares are bad enough as they are. I can’t imagine yours.”

Tears streamed down Bucky’s face, some gathering in a pool where Clint’s thumb touched his cheek..

“You are stronger than you think, but it’s okay to break down. I had to learn that the hard way myself. And hey,” Clint shrugged, pulling his hand away. Bucky shuddered, his mouth dropping open on a sound Clint couldn’t hear, his hand reaching out to pull Clint back before he seemed to think better of it, letting it fall. It hurt, seeing him so scared to reach out for help, for touch. When was the last time a touch hadn’t meant a fight? Or torture?

“Hey,” Clint repeated, softly. “You don’t have to go it alone. I’m due to be rescued any day now. Come home with me, we’ll help you.”

“Rescued?”

“Yeah,” Clint nodded. “I’m actually surprised it’s taking as long as it is. Nat’s usually faster than this.”

“But…”

“But what?” Clint could feel his eyebrows rising.

“Why would you need a rescue? Aren’t you a…” Bucky hesitated - “God, I’m gonna sound like a dumb punk but… aren’t you some sort of forest spirt, a fairy?”

Clint blinked at Bucky. Bucky stared back.

“I’m a _what?_ Sorry, I can’t actually hear anything your saying so I’ve been reading your lips and I didn’t understand that. Can you repeat that, slowly?”

Bucky stared at him, eyes wide and mouth gaping. “A…well I just… I thought… you were a fairy, a forest spirit of sorts, like the old tales Stevie and I grew up on.”

Clint burst out laughing so hard he nearly fell over. “Oh Bucky, Bucky, Bucky! I’m not… oh my god. Wow, okay, I know a few people who might call me a fairy, but they wouldn’t have meant anything half as nice as you’re saying. God, no. I’m nothing special. Just a clumsy, half deaf, ex-carnie who’s really good with a bow and really cranky without his coffee which, just so you know, it’s been uhhh… 6 days since my last cup. I’m going through withdrawal and I’m pretty sure I’m delirious.”

“I’m not sure _I’m _not,” Bucky said, rubbing his arm and then stopping to stare at where his flesh fingers met the metal arm. Clint winced a little. Metal – that shit had to be cold, and to operate the way Bucky did, it had to be so damn sensitive.

They sat in silence for a bit as the rain pattered down around them, not lessening up any. It was a strange mix of comfortable and awkward but suddenly, Clint huffed a little. Bucky turned his head to give him a questioning look.

“Y’know, I think I remember the fortune teller at the circus telling us some old stories. Fairies, elves, spirits an’ things… and there’s just one thing I remember her saying, over and over. All those creatures… the Fae or the Sidhe, they all had an unearthly beauty.” Clint turned to look at Bucky and he grinned. “You thought I was one of them so… you sayin’ I’m pretty?”

Bucky blushed and looked away and Clint laughed, softer now. His hand crept out to touch Bucky’s hair, combing through it. “I don’t mind it. Flattered, actually.” Clint cleared his throat. “You uh… you’re not so bad yourself, even with this riot of a mess on your head. Do you… I could braid it for you? Keep it out of your face a bit?” he asked tentatively.

Looking up, his face still red, his eyes wide, tear tracks staining his cheeks, Bucky swallowed, then nodded. “Please?” he asked.

Clint bit back the smart remark that tried to push its way out of his mouth. This wasn’t the moment for that. Bucky was vulnerable, lost and touch starved judging by the way his head was unconsciously tilting towards Clint’s hand. He needed a friend and Clint could be that for him.

And sure, maybe Clint’s first instinct was to tease him unmercifully, but that could wait for another time, when Bucky had had a chance to get his feet back under him. He had a feeling Bucky would prefer that sort of back and forth, as long as it wasn’t tempered with anything mean.

Twisting them about, sitting both side on to the fire, Clint used his fingers like a comb. It took a long while to comb the snarls out of Bucky’s hair, complicated by the bits of nature that had come along for the ride, but eventually it was brushed out and laying in soft waves across his shoulders. Clint started braiding, humming under his breath.

When he started the week, Clint could never have predicted being here now, braiding the hair of an ex-assassin on the run from pretty much everyone.

Still, he wasn’t surprised and he was pretty sure nobody who knew him would be surprised either.

Least of all Nat.

It wouldn’t stop the lecture, but she sure as hell wouldn’t have been surprised. They’d known each other far too long for that.

* * *

Maybe Bucky should have been disappointed to find out that Clint was a regular person and not some otherworldly spirit like he’d half suspected. And yet, despite the newfound knowledge, Bucky was still somehow enchanted by him.

Every touch from Clint had Bucky leaning in for more, had the tightness in his chest loosening and his eyes burning hot. Clint smiled at him softly, understandingly, before shifting to work on his hair, Clint’s fingers weaving through Bucky’s tangled mess. Clint hummed as he worked, the soft sound barely able to be heard over the rain. The thunder and lightning had ceased, at least, the light of the fire casting a warm, gentle glow on everything.

After the storm had passed, Clint didn’t seem inclined to kick Bucky out of his shelter. Bucky looked hesitantly at the opening, still dripping slowly. Clint reached out to touch Bucky’s arm, the metal one, he noticed, not shying away from it.

“You can stay,” he said.

The relief that filled him almost took him down.

Clint introduced him to the horse, calling him Black with a wide grin. Bucky didn’t get the reference, cause it must have been one. The horse wasn’t even all black. Close up, it was actually dappled in some places, and it’s muzzle was definitely a mix of white and grey and that strange blue markings Bucky had seen the first day. He traced a hand over it as he patted the horse who seemed wholly unfazed by Bucky.

“Yeah, it’s some kinda berry and it stains pretty bad. I was messing around with it and… whoops!” Clint laughed. “C’mon, let’s go get your stuff.”

“Not like I have much,” Bucky said, though he followed Clint as he slung the bow over his back. Now that they weren’t fighting through wind and rain, Bucky saw how close he’d actually been to Clint this whole time. He shook his head in wonder, gathering up what was left of his little camp – which was mostly the blankets and the rope, as they’d literally been the only thing tied down.

The blankets were a sodden, heavy mess, but he carried them easily back to Clint’s shelter where they laid the blankets out to dry. Clint coiled the rope back up and put it with their things, then fed some more branches into the fire to keep it going.

“Why?” Bucky blurted. Clint didn’t answer and Bucky sighed. Idiot. Clint already said he couldn’t hear him. He waited till Clint looked his way again and repeated the question.

Clint’s brow furrowed and his head cocked, like he couldn’t understand Bucky’s question. Maybe he didn’t.

“The fire, the rope, the food… even my injuries and then the storm today. You keep helping me. You could have left me in the plane. You –“

Shaking his head, Clint walked back over to Bucky and placed a finger over his lips, causing Bucky to stutter to a halt. “Already told ya, you are _not _what they made you do. The Bucky that Steve knew wasn’t that guy. The first thing alone means you deserve a second chance. Knowing who you were outside of the history books, I figured it was safe enough to be the one _giving _you the second chance. Lord knows where I’d be if nobody had given me one.”

Bucky’s lips parted under Clint’s fingertips and he reached up to pull his hand down. “You know Steve?”

“Yup.”

Bucky wanted to ask how, but that wasn’t important. What was important was knowing Clint and Steve were friens and Clint deserved to know what had happened, what Bucky had done. But he couldn’t look him in the eye and Bucky looked away. “I don’t deserve a second chance. And if you knew what I’d done to Steve, you’d think the same.”

“What was that?”

Bucky closed his eyes and his fists clenched at his sides but he faced Clint and repeated himself again. It’d been hard enough to say the first time, but not _looking _at Clint helped. If he didn’t have to see the horror on his face when Bucky admitted what he’d done… it made it easier to admit.

“No, whatever you did, I know Steve won’t blame you and neither do I. If Nat can forgive me almost killing her when I was outta my own mind, if Steve could take one look at me after I’d just tried to kill them even though he’d never even _met _me and trust me to be on the team, to help fix things, then I gotta believe he’d do right by you too,” Clint said.

Opening his eyes, swallowing against the lump in his throat, Bucky’s knees went weak and his legs wobbled. Clint eased him down beside the fire and took him in his arms. Bucky shuddered and wept till he was exhausted, slumping against Clint. His arms were warm, and strong, and held Bucky up effortlessly. Bucky couldn’t believe what was happening here, the good luck finally coming his way, even if in small ways. Clint accepting him, understanding him, not judging.

If he could have been stranded on an island with anyone, he thought Clint was probably the best person he could have been stranded with, even better than Steve, right now, because seeing Steve would have only made things worse, would have filled Bucky with more and more guilt.

When the tears finally dried out, when his breathing evened a bit, Clint helped him stand, leading Bucky to the raft he’d obviously been using as a bed and tucked him in, Bucky’s eye falling closed.

He woke to the smell of food, to the glow of the fire, the soft sounds of Clint singing. He stretched, blinking gritty eyes, feeling all sorts of wrung out but… better. Not a hundred percent – he was so far from that it wasn’t funny and who knew if he’d ever be again – but _better_. He still had his fears for the future, but he had some hope now, too.

Also, questions. Questions he thought only Clint could answer.

He joined Clint at the fire, Clint handing him food wordlessly, a big grin on his face. They ate in silence and Bucky almost groaned at how good the food was – fish, this time, Bucky hadn’t even attempted fish, sure that it would end in a food poisoning disaster enhanced or not – and something else, something that wasn’t meat.

He poked at it for a second and then shrugged. If Clint _wanted _to kill him, he wouldn’t have helped him. Also, Clint was eating it too and he’d kept himself alive this long, he must know what he was doing.

When the food was gone, Bucky couldn’t hold off his questions any longer. He shifted and Clint glanced over at him, curious. “So, you know Steve?” Bucky asked again. “How? Who are you?”

Clint shrugged. “Clint Barton – Hawkeye and Avenger and, according to Nat, a human disaster.”

“Steve’s an Avenger,” Bucky said, looking at Clint in horror. “_He’s_ your teammate. There’s a file on the Avengers.”

“Awww… and you didn’t recognize me?” Clint said nudging Bucky with a smile.

Bucky shook his head. “They only showed me Steve’s and…and Black Widows photos, but you were listed in the known associates.” He blinked with realization and rising horror. “Black Widow. Natasha Romanov. Nat. Your best friend is the Black Widow? And Nat’s coming to rescue you?!”

Bucky’s breath got choppy and his vision narrowed. Clint’s hands bracketed his face and stared Bucky in the eyes. “Easy, easy, it’s gonna be okay,” he said. “Try to breathe for me, okay?”

Shuddering, unable to look away from Clint’s blue eyes, Bucky nodded, concentrating hard. It took a long time of using Clint as an anchor to come back enough to breathe normally, but when he finally did, when he finally stopped shaking, he found himself leaning hard on Clint, Clint’s hands moving in circles along his back.

“Things will work out. Not gonna say it’ll be easy, but you’re not alone anymore. You’ve got friends.”

Bucky snorted into Clint’s neck and Clint laughed.

“Seriously. You got me and Steve for sure, and the rest of the team will back you.”

Pulling away so Clint could see his mouth, Bucky shook his head, the soft little braids already unraveling some. “They don’t even know me,” he protested.

“They don’t have to, and even when they do,” Clint shrugged. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Listening to Clint’s absolute certainty, seeing the sincerity bleeding from his eyes… for the first time since the helicarrier, Bucky thought maybe it would be.

* * *

It was another two days before Clint saw Bucky’s head snap up, looking at the sky.

The time had come, the moment of truth. Clint had no doubts but he knew Bucky was awash in them. He clasped his hand and gave it a squeeze, Bucky slowly looking down to meet his eyes.

“Trust me, Bucky,” Clint said.

“I do,” Bucky said, the surprise on his face at his own answer making Clint chuckle.

“Right, let’s gather our things – don’t want to be the ones responsible for littering a pristine tropical island,” Clint said.

“Shouldn’t we get down to the beach first, so they know we’re here, that they’ve got the right place?” Bucky asked.

Clint shook his head. “I left them a marker. They’ll circle around after they see it, probably land by the plane. It’s a good point of reference. We’ve got time for the little bit that’s here.”

In fact, they were already almost done. In preparation for this moment, Clint had lived possibly cleaner than he ever had, and within moments they were packed, their trash was buried and they were leading Black down to the very beach he’d found Bucky on. Bucky walked stiffly, obviously worried despite Clint’s assurances and Clint reached for his hand, taking it in his.

Bucky looked at him gratefully.

The quinjet landed on the beach just as they got there, and the wind it kicked up made Black shy and skitter nervously. Frankly, Black wasn’t the only one. Clint squeezed Bucky’s hand and smiled at him. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. Plus, I know the magic words.”

Bucky squeezed back, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He almost looked like he was marching to the gallows and Clint sighed. Words could only do so much. It was time, at this point, that would prove Clint right.

Nat was the first one off the jet as soon as the ramp had opened. She strode down without slowing though she did stutter for half a step when she realized who was with him.

Clint smiled at her as charmingly as he could and gave her a shrug. He let go of Bucky’s hand, feeling it twitch reluctantly as he did so, then lifted his hands and signed_. “Can I keep them?”_

She sighed and strode forward, keeping a wary eye on Bucky. “Here you go, moron.” She held out his spare BTE’s and with a sigh of relief he slipped them on in time to catch Tony’s voice as he came down the ramp.

“Oh no, you’re _not _keeping the horse!” Tony exclaimed. “Forget it, birdbrain.”

“Awww… but Tony!” Clint whined good-naturedly. “Tony, my man, Tones, the Tonester –“

“Quit it with the pet names. Only I get to do that. Kinda my thing. Whoa!” Clint knew the second Tony had finally caught sight of Bucky hovering behind him and beside the horse, doing his best to be overlooked. “I’ve changed my mind. You can keep the horse, but _Terminator_ has to stay!”

Nat rolled her eyes behind Tony’s back and Clint had to stifle a chuckle.

“You can’t make him stay. I’m pretty sure Steve’ll cry if you leave Bucky behind,” Clint said. He got a sly look on his face. “Do _you _want to make Captain America cry?”

Tony gaped at him, pointed, his mouth opening and closing a few times, then said, “You fight dirty, Barton.”

Clint knew he’d won and he grinned, sending up a fist pump. He led both Bucky and Black on board. “You’re gonna love the tower, Bucky. Promise.”

Nat followed them and closed the ramp after them, Tony still shooting wounded glares Clint’s way.

“So where _is _Steve?” Clint asked.

“Just got out of the hospital and he’s ready to tear the world apart to bring his friend home safe,” Nat said, staring at Clint and Bucky with a _how is this your life, Barton s_ort of expression on it. Clint ignored it. He was used to that expression.

Bucky winced. “How bad?”

“The guilts eating him alive,” Nat said. “But physically he’s fine.”

“What’s that punk got to be guilty for?” Bucky asked, confused. “I’m the one that… “ He choked and looked away and Clint’s heart broke. He reached for Bucky again as Bucky slumped into one of the seats.

“_It wasn’t you_,” Clint reminded him.

“It was my hands,” Bucky said, voice cracking.

Tony cleared his throat. “Look, torture and mindfuckery kinda gets you a pass on some things. I’d take the pass and… find a way to live with it. And then, if it were me, do something that’d be a big _fuck you, you don’t get to win_.”

Bucky stared at Tony and Tony cleared his throat and grimaced a little uncomfortably under the stare. He sidled around the horse with a mutter and joined Natasha in the cockpit

Clint’s shoulders shook with laughter as he urged Black to lay down while Tony loudly complained, “I just… the middle of the ocean… how _the fuck_ does he pick up strays in the _middle of the fucking ocean_? And what the fuck am I going to do with _a horse_?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you aren’t already building a compound upstate,” Nat said. “Pretty sure it’s surrounded by loads of farm country, too. You don’t have to keep the horse in the tower.”

“Goddammit – how’d you know about that?”

Clint couldn’t hear her answer, but if he knew Nat, her answer had only been a look that had said _you know damn well how I know that._

Tony cleared his throat. “Uh, right. Fair enough.”

Clint grinned at Bucky as the quinjet shuddered and rose. “Welcome to the family. Don’t mind us, we’re all a little bit crazy.”

“Have to be to put up with Stevie,” Bucky muttered.

Clint beamed at him, sitting alongside Bucky, the coolness of the air in the quinjet finally making itself known to his bare chest and arms. He couldn’t help the little shiver it engendered and Bucky shifted, pulling Clint into his side, his warmer body temperature causing Clint to slump into the heat with a happy sigh.

Suddenly, Clint was blushing. It had made sense, on the island, when Clint couldn’t hear a word and they were the only two there besides the horse, to keep close to each other. From the number of casual touches between them, that Bucky had seemed to need and Clint couldn’t stop himself from obliging, to sharing the raft as a bed – it had been built for more than one person after all – it had all felt right.

He didn’t realize until just now that he was already attached to Bucky Barnes in the sort of way that was going to break his damn heart when Bucky inevitably moved on. He’d already realized how much it would have hurt if Bucky had freaked out and elected to stay behind. Or if, now in the presence of others, he shied away from Clint’s touches.

That part was still possible, he supposed, when they got back to the tower and to Steve. Why would Bucky choose to hang out with strangers when Steve was his link to his past, the link to remembering who he was?

Bucky might even decide the world was just too much and hide away from everyone _but_ Steve.

And Clint wouldn’t be able to blame him. He had done it a time or two himself, only Nat making sure he didn’t do it permanently, knowing where all his bolt holes were, unlike the rest of the Avengers (or else Steve might have chased him down a time or two).

Clint didn’t realize he was idly drawing patterns over Bucky’s arm until Bucky’s arm tightened around Clint’s waist.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Bucky asked.

“You. Where you’ll go from here, once we get you back home and to Steve,” Clint answered truthfully.

“You… you sound sad about that,” Bucky said and Clint laughed, though there was no humor in it.

“Well, honestly, I’m expecting you to forget all about me and our little idyllic summer paradise as soon as you and Steve reconnect,” Clint said, his voice a resigned sigh.

“Ain’t happenin’, doll,” Bucky said thickly. There was a bit of Brooklyn in his voice that was making Clint a little nostalgic.

“Sure,” Clint nodded along placatingly.

Bucky edged back and turned, Clint catching himself and sitting up straight again. Bucky tilted his head up and his eyes glittered fiercely with determination. “I ain’t. You’re something special –“

“That’s just the island talking –“ Clint’s words were cut off as Bucky’s mouth slanted over his, his hands clamped down over Clint’s shoulders and pulling him in close. The kiss was gentle, soft, a bare brush of lips, then another as Clint didn’t protest. Then a third, the kiss deepening when Clint clutched Bucky and his eyes fluttered shut.

Their lips moved together, sending a shudder through Clint before petering off to gasping breaths and stuttering hearts. Bucky moved back, but not far, their heads tapping together, Clint’s eyes opening up to stare at him breathlessly.

“Bucky?”

“Consider that a promise, doll,” Bucky said gently. “Whatever I gotta do to make myself right again, I ain’t gonna forget you.”

“Yeah?” Clint asked, hating how tremulous his voice sounded. “Betchya say that to all the forest spirits you meet,” he tried to joke.

“Just one,” Bucky said firmly, his thumbs coming up to caress over Clint’s cheeks.

And if a year later, Bucky Barnes proved to be a man of his word, well, Clint was probably the only one surprised – not because Bucky kept his word, but because Bucky hadn’t changed his mind once he got to know Clint better.

“Nah, doll,” Bucky said, curling up with Clint and holding him close. “Getting to know you better only made what we have that much more magical.”

Clint blushed, but decided not to argue it. From the eager way Bucky returned the kiss, he approved of Clint’s decision.

**Author's Note:**

> [ Rebloggable Tumblr Post](https://pherryt.tumblr.com/post/187721708841/wild-child-marvel-post-winter-soldier-canon)


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